


Convention

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files, due South
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The first annual XF/DS slash convention, things get out of hand.





	Convention

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Convention by Drovar

30 Nov 98  
Title: Convention  
Archive: gossamer: No, Archive X: Yes, Others: by request.  
Author/pseudonym: Drovar  
Email:   
Rating: R for male slashy stuff, though no actual sex  
Fandom: XF/DS crossover  
Pairings: bunches  
Date: 11/18/98  
Website: The Ferret Cage  
URL: http://www.ferret-cage.com/  
Summary: The first annual XF/DS slash convention, things get out of hand.  
Category: Humor (hopefully) Parody (certainly) Slash (well duh, look who wrote it.)  
Warnings: Not much, avoid if you abhor pretty boys doing silly things  
Disclaimers: XF belongs to CC and 1013, DS belongs to Alliance, nobody belongs to me  
Notes: The characters of XF and DS meet up and get a few things straight between them. It's silly and hopefully fun. Thanks to Hal, for kindness, and making me laugh as well as her inspirational 'Free Agents'. This little story doesn't do her work justice but I enjoyed writing it anyway.

* * *

Walter Skinner scanned the mock police station/convention center/squad room and checked his attendance sheet. Pretty good turnout, for a semi-official function. Both Mounties sat together in the back row, alert, good posture, attentive. Skinner checked his list, the shorter one would be Benton Fraser and the taller Mountie to his left would be Constable Turnbull.

Spender sat in the first row, his head down on the table cradled on his folded arms. Someone had stuck a small 'DORK' sign on his curly head. Skinner sighed, carefully reached over and plucked the sign off. No need for a repeat of that nasty scene from the XF/HL annual picnic and slash-fest. It was amazing how fast 'Please pass the macaroni salad' could turn into a raging, crossover, multi-genre food fight in less than five seconds.

The likely 'DORK' culprit sat three rows back perfectly sprawled in his chair, as only he or maybe Methos could sprawl. His hair, his lips, his eyes, were utter perfection, utter annoying perfection. It was enough to make a man cry, or retch, or embarrass himself when he stood up.

Skinner sighed and checked his attendance list again. He spotted both Rays, or was it Ray and Stanley now? Skinner could never keep that straight, at the Kosher vegetarian buffet, arguing, again. Fraser had been quick to opine, at the pre-conference summit, that it seemed to serve as a ritual form of foreplay. Skinner's thoughts drifted back to a few pleasant sessions in his office berating a certain, oh so perfect, and recalcitrant FBI agent Yes, he could see how that could be true.

"Vecchio you're cracked."

"Well *Stanley*. I'm not the one with 20/60 vision."

"20/40"

"Whatever . . . doof"

  
Skinner's list contained two more names, and neither man was in attendance.

"Has anyone seen Mr. Pendrell?", he asked the room.

Spender shifted slightly, never lifting his head from the table.

"Dead character conference in Cleveland," he mumbled through his folded arms.

"What?" Skinner said. There was no conference on the schedule, and their travel expences were already over budget.

"Uh-huh, said something about, 'Death and Your Character's Motivation."

Skinner made a note in this Official Slash Logbook "And Mr. Krycek?

"Three day vacation, " Mulder said, with an utterly sensual smirk. "I heard him making reservations for two at the Hopkins airport Marriott."

"Ah," Skinner said shaking his head. "That would explain the *substantial* request for supplies." He flipped through the receipts stapled to the log book. "The mint flavored condoms I can understand, and the Astroglide, but what in heaven's name is a 'Push-me-Pull-you?"

Guffaws from Mulder (along with some informative pantomime), the two Ray's, a nasal snort from Spender, and mystified looks from the two Mounties gave him a pretty good idea.

Interesting, he'd have to ask Pendrell for a demonstration when he got back, after he explaining in intimate detail the benefits of fiscal, and other restraints.

"All right Gentlemen," Skinner said, after making a few final notes in his log book,. "lets get down to business, shall we?"

"As you know, the slash consortium has decided that there should be more crossovers between our two fandoms. To better facilitate the merging of our two . .

"Stop it, lemme 'lone!"

Spender sat huddled in his seat, head still down on one arm, the other waving behind him ineffectually. Mulder sat innocently, perfectly unaware, taking great interest in the roundness of the lapel buttons of his trench coat.

Skinner groaned, slipped off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. This had the makings of a long session.

"Mr. Mulder, might I remind you that, despite some creative license, and a bit of infantilism, we *are* all adults here."

Mulder affected an utter shocked and wounded look.

"He was asleep, really," Mulder said as he graciously collapsed into a perfect sulk.

"As I was about to say, we are here to introduce ourselves to one another, and engage in a few PWP assignments. There's quite a backlog."

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road," said the blond haired Ray.

"You are such a dweeb Stanley," the other Ray said, carefully practiced sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Bite me, Vecchio"

"Not for dinner *and* a movie."

"Gentlemen, lets try to stick to the business at hand shall we?", Skinner asked.

"Sure thing." the blond Ray answered. "If Ray can keep his hand's off his own business."

Skinner let the remark slide, despite the muffled snort from the red serge section. He picked up the short stack of index cards and quickly scanned the first one, reading it aloud.

"Pairing: Kersh/anyone Category: Angst, Character death Any takers?"

Skinner looked around the room.

"Didn't think so," he said as he shuffled that card all the way to the back. "Maybe later in the season.".

The next card seemed to hold more potential.

"Minor-character, PWP."

Spender groaned and seemed to sink even further down into misery.

"Let me guess," he said, still not lifting his head from the table. "I get axe murdered, chopped into bits and fed to manatees...again."

Skinner checked the Summary. "No, no manatees in this one. It takes place in the Canadian Consulate Rose Garden."

Spender perked up a little, his head rising just up off his arms.

"So who is it? Some 300 pound Nazi?, Flukeman?, That buck-tooth sheriff from 'Bad Blood'?"

"No I . . ." Skinner began.

"Oh my God," Spender wailed. "It's the Peacock brothers, isn't it?"

An instant and resounding "ewwwww" filled the room.

"Now, now Son" Skinner said as he checked the pairing on the card. "I think you're going to like this one."

"Really?" Spender asked. He raised his head to face Skinner. His voice guarded but hopeful.

"Your partner for this assignment is Constable Turnbull."

Spender turned slowly in his chair, spotting the handsome Mountie, who tipped his hat in greeting, for the first time. Spender's downtrodden expression exploded into relief and eagerness.

"Oh, baby," he shouted leaping to his feet.

"Good evening Sir," the constable began.

With a joyful shout Spender catapulted across the room, knocking over Mulder and five chairs before leaping into the big Mounties' arms.

"Come to papa," Spender said as he draped his arms around the Mounties neck. Mulder righted himself, and reasserted his oh so perfect sulk.

"Oh, I see," said Turnbull, "role-playing. Yes of course, ahem . . . Oh baby, give me all your hot donkey love."

Even Skinner had to grin at the Mounties earnest deadpan, he was very good at it.

"Turnbull," Fraser said to the mystified Mountie once the laugher had died down. "The word is 'monkey'. It's 'Give me all you hot 'monkey' love. Monkey not donkey."

"You're certain?"

"Oh yes, quite. Ray says my grasp of American lingo has improved considerably."

"Ahh . . .," Turnbull said, shaking his head in agreement. "Then I'm afraid I don't understand the analogy." he said turning to face the other Mountie.

Unfortunately as he turned Constable Turnbull failed to take into account the happy young FBI agent in his arms. Spender's feet swept in a wide arc as Turnbull moved, and contacted the back of Mulder's head quite squarely. With a startled yelp and a clatter of fold-up chairs the sultry agent tumbled into to the floor, landing in a suggestive heap.

"Oh dear," Turnbull said. "terribly sorry about that."

"Yeah sure, ya' red coated bastard," Mulder muttered under his breath.

"Well," Turnbull said to the young gent in his arms. "Shall we?"

"Oh, hell yes." Spender replied.

Turnbull made his way carefully through the room, taking care not to injure anyone else. After a brief incident with the buffet table the Mountie and his charge were on their way.

Skinner turned back to his notes as the last of the two men's conversation filled the room.

"Hey . . . boots." Spender said, his voice sounding more animated than Skinner could ever remember.

"You've got boots. I *love* boots."

"How do you feeling about curling?"

"Curling?"

"Curling"

Spender's answer was lost in the distance as the two faded from view.

Skinner tapped his cards on the table and rifled through them. That was one down at least. He was about to suggest the next scenario when shouting, real shouting, broke out.

"What is your problem Vecchio? You been on my ass since the get go. Maybe this *was* your life, but it's *my* life now. I didn't ask for it, but I'm stuck with it and I'm keeping it. You got that champ?"

"Go to hell Kowalski." Ray Vecchio turned toward the front of the room, studiously ignoring the agitated man at his side. His face an angry mask of conflicting emotions. "I got nothing more to say to your ugly mug."

"Shit," Ray Kowalski said in disgust. He turned away from the man he was supposed to be, or never was, or something, and stumbled over to the Mountie.

Fraser took in the situation, which was growing rapidly intolerable. There had to be changes, and it might as well start here.

"Ray, a word with you if you don't mind?" Fraser asked, beckoning Ray Kowalski across the room. There was a moment of quiet conversation followed by whispered protestations.

"No way."

"Yes Ray, I assure you. I'm quite correct in this."

"No friggin, I'll burn in hell first, damn way."

"Well, despite your rather colorful denial Ray. I assure you, it is very much the truth."

"Really?, your sure?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll be damned."

"Hey Vecchio," Kowalski said as me moved back across the room..

Ray Vecchio looked up to see Ray Kowalski looking at him wide eyed, grinning like an idiot.

"What? Turnbull finally say yes?" Vecchio asked.

When Kowalski's expression shifted from grin to leer, Vecchio turned to the Mountie for some explanation. Fraser had apparently taken a sudden interest in talking to that FBI guy Mulder.

With dawning horror Vecchio shifted his gaze between the two men, things suddenly made a hell of a lot of sense.

"Fraser," Vecchio shouted, jumping to his feet. "what did you tell him?."

"Now Ray," Fraser began.

"I can't believe you told him that." Vecchio wailed.

"Well Ray your attraction to Detective Kowalski was hardly a secret."

"Nope, not a bit." Mulder said in a perfect sultry snarl.

"No secret, not at all," Skinner said as he tossed his assignment cards into the trash. This was more fun anyway.

"But we hate each other!" Vecchio protested. "I just want to punch him every time I see him."

"Well of course, Ray" Fraser said. "It's called sublimation."

"Been there," said Mulder

"Done that," Skinner added as he joined the group.

"Actually," Fraser said. "Violence And The Subtext Of Homoerotic Desire, is a classic in the genre."

"Wait, wait," the bewildered detective said. "You saying that even though I can't stand the sight of Kowalski, I actually like him, but I can't deal with it, so I hit him instead?"

"Hoh-boy, been there big time," Mulder said.

"Yes, in non-technical terms, that is more or less correct," Fraser added.

Vecchio turned to the still smirking Ray Kowalski.

"I don't care. Stanley, get away from me."

*woof*

"Shut up Stanley"

"Come to papa"

"Go to hell, Kowalski"

"Come on, give me some sugar baby."

"Stop it"

"Vecchio, you got a Jonsey for my Jonsey."

"Kowalski, get your hand off of my ass or you're not gonna have a Jonsey."

"What is your problem Vecchio?" Kowalski suddenly demanded. "I'm not pretty enough for you? No wait, let me guess. I'm not your type. He's the one you want isn't he." Kowalski said, pointing at the Mountie. Kowalski suddenly seemed to shrink several inches.

"Look Stanley, it's just that... I mean I'm not... Oh hell."

"Mr. Vecchio?" Skinner said quietly placing his hand on the detectives shoulder.

"Yeah what do you w.."

Vecchio's question was swallowed up in a surprised squeak as the big AD's lips suddenly covered his own. He felt himself drawn tight against the hard body, as he struggled in vain. Strong arms enfolded him, strong lips pressed to his own, Skinner's tongue slid into his mouth, tasting and testing. With a start Vecchio felt the AD's cock, hard and huge, pressing into his own groin.

He could here the other's responding as the kiss deepened. Mulder low sultry whistle, Fraser's startled "Oh my" ,and Kowalski's jealous, "Hey that's my skinny piece of Chicago PD ass, your hogging."

Skinner broke the kiss and slid a powerful arm around the wobbly detective. "Well?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me, " Vecchio said grabbing Kowalski's hand, and tugged him toward the door. "Come on Stanley. You too big guy, this is supposed to be a crossover convention isn't it?"

"Don't wait up fellas'" Kowalski yelled as the two Rays disappeared through the doorway.

Skinner turned to the two remaining conventioneers, loosened his tie, dropped his glasses into his vest pocket, and said "Sorry gentlement, you're on your own." Before striding off after the Chicago detectives.

"Ray, stop that. . . stop, I... Ray, I can't walk when you do that!"

"Shut up Stanley."

Then they also were gone.

  
"Well looks like it's just you and me," Mulder said as he began to walk in circles around the Mountie.

"Fraser, right?"

/Nice uniform/

"Yes, that's correct."

"Lead character?"

/Strong back/

"Yes, I suppose."

"Angst?"

/Powerful legs/

"Not a lot, I am Canadian, after all."

"Good teeth?"

/Nice lips/

"Why yes, I've always considered personal dental hygiene of utmost importance."

"I see," Mulder said as he finished his third circle around the Mountie. "Well I suppose you'll do."

"Your certain?" Fraser asked removing his hat.

"Oh, yes."

"Well, thank you kindly."

"You're we . . . "

The backhand caught Mulder directly across the face and knocked him tumbling and howling to the floor. He sat upright, a look of perfect astonishment sweeping across his face, his full lower lip trembling. Mulder scuttled to his feet as the Mountie closed in.

"Owh stop that... what are you? Hey that hurt... stop pu... ouch.. hey.. owh!

"What are you doing?" Mulder moaned from the floor.

Fraser hesitated, mid-kick.. "The expression of homoerotic desires in a subtext of violence, I believe we've already covered that topic."

"But I'm not sublimating anymore," Mulder yelled as he dodged between the Mounties boots.

/Nice boots/

"Well perhaps not, but I am," Fraser replied as he grabbed Mulder by the belt and collar and pulled him to his feet. "And according to the tenets of the genre I am required, as the sublimating partner, to beat you with at length and with gusto, thereby establishing my masculinity and allowing the subsequent joyous joining of our minds, bodies, and spirits."

Fraser paused. "Do you have any food allergies?

Mulder shook his slightly swimming head.

"Any problems with dermatitis, skin rash, that sort of thing? No? ah good."

Mulder suddenly felt himself being propelled across the room. "No, not the buff..."

The three men standing in the parking lot turned at the sudden sound of breaking glass and splintering wood. The turned to each other with knowing grins. "Foreplay,."

###


End file.
